Hunters and Monsters
by HallowedRider
Summary: Thrown into the world of the Mortal Instruments by the all-powerful being known as a Guide, Sam has been changed into a werewolf and Dean into a vampire. With no way to escape the world they have been thrown into, they must survive. But can the Hunters adapt to their new world in which they are the monsters and no longer the Hunters?
1. Chapter 1

"I so hate trying to find new humans to play with," the Guide sighed, crossing her arms. She sat at the top of a mountain, gazing down at a small village. She had visited it in the hopes of finding someone interesting enough for her to move around, but to no avail. "I so wish those Winchesters weren't still in the wizarding world, they would have been…" Her voice trailed off as an idea occurred to her.

The wind picked up around her and she waved it away with a flick of her wrist, a grin beginning to light up her face. Perhaps the Winchesters from _this_ time period were currently disposed, but there were infinite other time periods she could take them from. "Have to be careful though," she muttered to herself. "It can't be _too_ far back, they have to know about the angel and the demon. It'd be easier if they were on good terms as well. Time for a bit of a trip, I think."

She laughed and vanished on the spot, the only remnant of her presence was the imprint of her hands on the snow. But soon enough they were swept away by the wind, leaving nothing. Traveling through time was simple, laughably easy in fact. She possessed powers equal to that of the god of this world, and even had a few tricks up her sleeve that he did not. Multidimensional travel, for instance.

"Dean, the Mark won't just go away!" Sam said loudly, his seat lying on its side after he had stood up rather violently. "You can't just ignore this!"

"Says who?" Dean asked, sipping at a bottle. His tone was bored, uncaring. "The way I see it, Cain fought the Mark for centuries. Who says I can't do the same?"

"So, what? Are you just going to stay here in the bunker forever? Drinking and going on hunts when you find one?" Sam demanded, slamming the table with the palm of his hand. "What about when a Hunt goes south? What then? Still think you are going to be a Hunter when you are a monster?"

"Aaand _pause._ " The Guide said, materializing in the other chair at the table. Her eyes were sparking with interest, an idea having been planted in her brain by Sam's words. "That sounds like a _lovely_ idea."

Sam and Dean, their argument instantly forgotten, pushed to their feet and simultaneously reached for their weapons. Sam drew the demon-killing knife whilst Dean pulled his Beretta from the small of his back. "Who the hell are you?" Sam asked, assuming a knife fighter's stance. "How did you get in here?"

"Can't ward against something you don't know about," she advised them, kicking her feet up on the table. "Now, shall we get to business?"

She waved her hand and the Winchesters were suddenly back in their seats, unable to move except to turn their heads. "What the hell?" Dean asked of no one in particular, struggling against the magic. "Let us go!"

"Oh, relax," she rolled her eyes and smirked. "The older versions of you were _so_ much more agreeable. Oh! Maybe that's because the angel and the demon were there. I'll just bring them here, shall I?"

She snapped her fingers in a remarkably Crowley-esque way and, just like that, the angel and the demon were there as well. She had apparently conjured chairs in the same motion and the new arrivals were sitting at the table alongside the others. "What the bloody hell is this?" Crowley, clearly confused, growled. He fixed Dean and Sam with an accusing look. "If you needed to summon me, I _do_ have a cell phone."

"This wasn't us," Sam said, nodding at the Guide.

"What are you?" Castiel asked, his eyes narrowed. A flash of understanding appeared in his eyes and he leaned back slightly in his seat. "You are a Guide."

"Very astute, Castiel," she beamed at him happily. "Would you mind quickly giving them an overview of what I am? I told the older Winchesters and I really do hate repeating myself."

"Cas, what the hell is she?" Dean asked, a hint of worry edging into his tone. If this thing was powerful enough to trap an angel and a demon without breaking a sweat, it meant powerful.

"She is a Guide. They are multidimensional beings. They like to meddle in the affairs of worlds, changing things to better suit their tastes and whims." Castiel struggled against the magic that held him to no avail, wishing that he could summon his angel blade. "They are incredibly powerful. Stronger than even an archangel."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "Your God and I are probably right around the same level. Well, mostly. He might have a bit of an edge on me here. But, hey, that's alright. Now, to get down to business, I have been so _bored._ You have no idea just how much of a trial it is to find interesting humans to relocate."

"Whoa, what do you mean relocate?" Dean asked, cutting her off as she opened her mouth to speak again.

"I mean there are plenty of other worlds and dimensions that I think you would do well in," she said brightly, examining her nails.

"I don't know if you have taken notice, but we seem to be doing fairly well in _this_ world." Crowley said irritably. "And if you don't mind, there are issues in Hell that demand my immediate attention. People to kill, deals to finalize, demons to torture."

"Plenty of time for all that once you get back," she told him sternly. "Don't worry, I'll be returning you to this exact moment in time after you have finished up your time in Idris."

"Idris?" Castiel asked, "I am not familiar with that city."

"Well, _you_ won't be there," the Guide said, grinning. "I think, Castiel, it is high time that you were returned to heaven with all the power of an archangel. Play by my rules while you are there, or I will make you."

The angel vanished in the next second, and the Guide turned her attention to Crowley. "Now, the demon. This earth only has one layer of hell, but I think you have earned your title as one of the Greater Demons. Ruling an entire world by yourself, what do you say?"

Apparently what Crowley said was of no great import to the Guide as he too vanished after the Guide finished speaking. "What did you do to them you bitch?" Dean roared, struggling against the magic even harder now.

"And… the Hunters…." She mused, pursing her lips. "You know, I wonder about this. There are Hunters where you are going, Shadowhunters to be precise, but I think that I have a much different idea for you two. You are so used to being Hunters, what about when you are the very things you hunt? Yes, I quite like that idea. Oh and, of course, I think that you two need a makeover before you go."

Dean and Sam felt a curious sensation envelop them, simultaneously hot and cold. It only lasted a few moments before it ended and both Winchesters felt something terribly different about themselves. Dean glanced over at Sam and his jaw fell open in shock. "Sammy?" he asked, his voice catching in his throat. "Y-you're-."

"Young," Sam said, looking over at Dean. "Dude, you're a teenager!"

"So are you," Dean said, horrified. "What the hell?"

"Yes, much better," she said happily, rising from her seat. "You will fit in much better there. Well, by age and appearance at least. I am afraid that Shadowhunters aren't very charitable to werewolves and vampires at the point in time I am sending you. But I think you will manage."

"We aren't werewolves or vampires," Sam said, wincing at the way his voice cracked.

"You are now." She smiled, waving her hand and sending them away.

She leaned against the table and sighed, crossing her arms. "Well, this will certainly be interesting." She said to herself. "I do hope that they don't die too often, rewinding time too much can be annoying. Maybe I'll reset them and make them Shadowhunters if worst comes to worst. But, for now, let's see how they handle being monsters in a world like that."

 **So, before I enter the world of Mortal Instruments, I thought I would preface this. This will take place throughout the first books in the series, potentially into the Clockwork series as well depending on its reception. In case it wasn't clear, I am not making Sam and Dean shadowhunters, I thought that the Hunter idea was a bit done. So I made them monsters. I look forward to your thoughts.**

 **Cheers, Hallowed.**


	2. First Day

When Dean came to, he was in the dark and the cold. But it wasn't like anything like he had ever experienced before. He took a deep, shuddering gasp as the burning in his throat set in. Completely on instinct his hand shot out and dirt fell onto his face. The implication of this took only a second to set in. He had been buried alive. While this was a pressing concern, every second that Dean was in the ground the pain in his throat became worse and worse. It had been intolerable at first, but now it seemed as though the fire would overtake his entire body. His senses seemed to be in overdrive and because of that he picked up a scent. Something about it seemed familiar to the last piece of his conscious mind before the smell overpowered him and he began to claw at the dirt before him. Thankfully he didn't seem to be very deep as his hand broke the surface and felt the night air in only a few agonizingly slow minutes of digging. By the time he had freed the rest of his body he was acting only on instincts. He followed the scent and by the time he regained control of his body and his senses it was too late. Blood was splattered all over his mouth, dripping down his chin, and staining his shirt. He removed the blood bag from his mouth and made to throw it away, but his instincts were too strong. He bit into it again, fighting to stop drinking even as the coppery liquid trickled down his throat. Only when the bag was empty did his body finally let him throw it away. He fell back on his butt and looked down at the carnage he had wrought. He ran his tongue over his lips without even considering the action and winced as his fangs cut the soft flesh. "What the hell is going on?" he asked of no one in particular, glancing back to the hole he had just crawled out of. A thought occurred to him in the next second. He got to his feet and turned in a small circle. "Sammy? Sam?" he shouted.

"What's going on over there?" a voice that was definitely not Sammy's answered back irritably. A few moments later a gray-haired older man came walking around the corner, a cane assisting his movement. Dean glanced down at his blood-stained shirt and then back to the slowly approaching older gentleman wondering what the hell he would say about his state. When the man finally got to Dean he was breathing slightly hard and a thin sheen of sweet was on his brow. "What are you doing here at this time of night, young man?"

"This time of night?" Dean asked, looking around. It was clear to him, perhaps early morning. "What time is it?"

The old man checked his watch. "Half past one," he said. "Now, what are you doing here?"

Dean glanced around at his surroundings and he very quickly knew where he was. "You know, just, uh, visiting." he gestured vaguely to the gravestone behind him and the old man's eyes softened at once.

"Ah, yes. Were they friends of yours?" he asked gently. "Terrible shame what happened to them."

"Yeah, good friends," Dean said, putting on his best sad face. "Thought I would stop by and say hello."

"Well, I suppose I understand that," the old man nodded. "I'll let it slide this time, but visiting hours are from eight to six for future reference. And would you mind keeping it down some? This is a place to pay your respects, not shout at them."

"Roger that," Dean said, nodding in understanding. He bade the old man farewell and watched him go, unhappy with the way his throat burned slightly when the wind sent the old man's scent running back to him. He turned back to see the names of the people he had used in his alibi, intending to apologize. The words never came. Two black marble gravestones were there, both of them clearly very new, side by side. The one directly behind Dean had been the very grave he had dug himself out of, the one next to it remaining untouched. They bore the same ornate handwriting etched into the stone the precursor 'Beloved Son and Friend' on both stones. The names on the stones were Sam and Dean Winchester. Dean was momentarily stunned before he fell to his knees at Sam's grave and began to dig. His hands bit deeply into the cold dirt and, despite using no tools, he made quick work of the dirt. When his fingers brushed against the smooth wood of a casket he grabbed the edge of the lid and quite simply ripped it open. Inside, thankfully, there was nothing. Just a simple cream-colored coffin lining.

Dean pulled himself out of the grave and took a seat by the dug-up grave. He took a moment to be thankful that Sammy was not inside the coffin before he began to worry about where he was. "What the hell is going on here?" he muttered to himself as he stood up. He briefly considered filling the grave back in but decided against it. Empty or not, filling in a grave that had Sam's name on it was something he was not capable of. He left the cemetery, hopping easily over the fence and heading off in the opposite direction of the place he had awoken. There was a lot of information to be had.

Several hours earlier and dozens of miles away, Sam had awoken as well. Thankfully he had not been underground, but he _was_ in the middle of a seemingly massive forest. The sun had been in the midst of its descent when he had woken up on the forest floor, thoroughly startling the birds in the trees. Like Dean, his senses seemed to have been heightened. He had tried to find his way out of the forest, listening intently for any signs of civilization, but none had been forthcoming. Hours passed as he wandered through the forest ignoring the fact that, as it grew darker, his body grew hotter and his senses seemed to dial up to an even greater extent. When the sun set it was nearly intolerable. He had long since shed his shirt and pants, both of them slung over his shoulder as he walked. The sounds of the forest were deafening. He could hear every scratch from every squirrel and bird within five hundred yards of him. His eyes picked out every single detail of every single leaf that fluttered to the ground. His sense of smell was nearly enough to overwhelm him in of itself. In the distance a wolf howled and Sam had spun around and begun walking towards it before he knew what he was doing. Only when he realized what he had done did he shake off the desire and continue in the direction he had been going. But still, something deep inside of him pushed and begged for him to go to the wolf.

The pain began when the sun had finally gone down. "The hell is happening?" Sam, out of breath as pain wracked his body in bursts, asked. The wolf howled again, closer now, and Sam felt an odd desire to call back to it. He tried to think back to what had happened before he had woken up, but the pain seemed to be meddling with his memory. He knew who he was and that he was not where he belonged, but anything beyond that was lost in the shroud of misery. He kept moving, pushing through the pain, as it got darker. Just when he thought that he was doomed to spend the night in the forest, curled up in pain, he saw headlights in the distance. "Hey!" Sam called tiredly, "Hey!"

He heard voices a moment later and he could easily hear their words. "You heard that too, right Alaric?"

"Yeah, sure did," the one, apparently called Alaric, said. "Who the hell would be out this, especially this late at night?"

"I'd say someone from the pack, but I don't recognize the scent or the voice." The other voice said gruffly. "Probably some punk kid that got lost."

"Might as well find out," Alaric sighed and called, "Who's there?"

"Me," Sam said, staggering into the clearing as another painful tremor coursed through him. His breath came in gasps now and his clothes fell from his grasp as he went to his knees, the pain causing him to retch. "Please help me, something's wrong."

"Alaric…" the unnamed man said slowly, going warily to Sam's side. "This kid is Turning, you smell him right?"

"Yeah, I do," Alaric said gravely. "Must be his first. Hey kid, do you know what's going on?"

"You don't need to shout," Sam said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I think- I think I'm sick or something."

"You aren't wrong," the man laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Well, he's lucky. He's got that much going for him, running into us like this. Listen kid, I know it hurts. We all went through the first Turn. Stop fighting it, trust me it will be over a lot faster."

"Stop fighting what?" Sam asked, groaning in pain as another wave of agony crashed against him. "What's happening to me?"

"Long story short, you are Turning into a werewolf," Alaric told him softly. "We can exchange questions later, I'm sure you will have a lot. We have some too. For now, we will help you. But Bat is right, you can't fight it. Well, you can but it won't end well trust me. The Change can't be fought off, it is going to happen. Be a whole lot easier if you give in."

Sam groaned again and tried to listen to their advice, the pain just as bad as anything he had ever felt, and immediately regretted it. He felt the bones in his arms and legs extend and break, fresh waves of hell burning him from the inside. "I thought you said it was easier," he snarled, his fingers digging into the ground as he pushed himself to a sitting position.

"Oh, it's easier," Bat assured him. "Once the Change is over the pain goes away. First one is always the worst, I don't even feel pain when I turn anymore. A few minutes of hell kid, that's all it is. We'll help you through it."

Seemingly of its own accord, Sam's body followed their advice and gave in. The older men were right. It hurt. A lot. He felt his muscles snap individually and his bones break and reform themselves into a new shape. Each time that he thought that the pain couldn't get worse his body proved him wrong. This happened over and over until Sam quite suddenly blacked out and knew no more.


	3. Kill

The sun rising usually gave Dean a sense of peace, like the problems of the night disappeared with the appearance of the light. Unfortunately this was not the case this time. He had been walking down an unfamiliar street when the first rays touched his skin. For the briefest of moments it felt pleasant. But then the burning began. He howled in pain and threw himself through the closest doorway he could find, splintering the wood and tumbling inside. He laid on the ground for a few moments, his face against the floorboards as he gathered his composure. He glanced down and saw that his arm was now charred where the sun had touched it and, guessing from the pain he felt, his neck was in much the same boat. "Oh this _sucks_ ," he said to no one in particular, rising to his feet. He glanced back at his arms and was only slightly surprised to see that the wounds were already healing.

It had been a very enlightening night for Dean as he had traveled. It had taken him very little time to come to terms with the fact that he was now a bloodsucker, though he still loathed the fact. In addition to this new reality, he had absolutely no idea where Sam was. Luckily enough, he had however figured out where he was. It was a place that he was very familiar with: Lawrence, Kansas. But that was the extent of where his familiarity ended. Nothing was like he remembered and, to his immense sadness, a family he did not know was now living in the house he had been born in. After that he had put all of his focus on figuring out what had happened to Sam and where his little brother was. After breaking into a house and 'borrowing' the family's laptop he had done a quick search on the internet and discovered everything he needed to. Evidently he and Sam had been in some sort of horrific animal attack. Dean had been found with almost all of the blood drained from his body while Sam's had never been recovered. Dean had been pronounced dead at the scene and laid to rest next to an empty grave where his brother would have been. Quite simply, Dean refused to acknowledge that his brother was dead. If _he_ was a vampire now, he still had no idea how that had happened or how he had gotten to whatever twisted-ass world he was now in, then it was very likely that Sammy was one too.

He snorted in derision at the idea and shook his head once. "First time I've ever wished Sam was a monster instead of a human," he said. He took a quick look at his surroundings and winced as he realized he had, inadvertently, broken into yet another house. He could already hear the sounds of someone upstairs trying to very quietly make their way downstairs, presumably to confront the intruder with some sort of human weapon.

"Whose there?" a voice called a moment later, a male's voice trying hard to mask the nervous tremor with a large amount of bravado. "I have a gun! I'll shoot!"

 _Probably wouldn't do much more than annoy me,_ Dean thought with a dry chuckle. Hunting vampires had left him with a healthy appreciation and respect for how tough they could be. Guns, typically, didn't equate to much more than a punch to the gut.

Quiet as a shadow, Dean ghosted through the house and waited for the man to come downstairs. As he got closer to the stairs his ears picked up the sound of multiple heartbeats, pounding away in a beautiful song. He felt his throat begin to burn with thirst and his fangs jutted out from his lips. He waited patiently for the barrel of the gun to peek around the corner he was hiding before he grabbed it faster than the man could react and promptly disarmed him. Before he could shout, Dean wrapped him in a chokehold and waited for the man's movements to cease. Once the man was unconscious Dean buried his fangs in the man's throat, reveling in the sweet taste of the blood. Only when the man's heartbeat had begun to slow did Dean finally release him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and cleaned the blood off on his jeans.

Dean had already adapted to his new reality. He had not noticed it at first, the whole 'vampire' mixed with the 'new universe' thing had somewhat preoccupied him but during his travel in the night he had noticed it. The Mark of Cain was still upon his arm. He could feel it, even then, begging him to take the man's life and finish what he had started. But he was able to turn away from the temptation, the blood now flowing through him providing him with enough power to control the Mark's urges.

The sound of footsteps upstairs may have been missed when he was human, but his vampire hearing was unbelievably sensitive. So was his sense of smell. He glanced out the window to the sun as it made its way up the horizon and sighed. He wouldn't be able to go anywhere for quite some time, which meant that the family inside the house was now a liability. For a brief moment Dean paused in his thoughts and considered what had just came across his mind. Killing innocents was not something he did, Mark of Cain or not. But, then again, this was not a typical situation. When he had the laptop he searched up other events that had transpired in his world and none of them came up. No meteor shower that was in actuality angels falling, no crazy weather patterns caused by Lucifer, none of it. As far as Dean could tell, he was not in his own world. He thought back to when he had been transported here by the chick with the blue eyes and shook his head slowly. The man on the floor began to stir, albeit slowly, and Dean stomped down on the man's neck without a thought. The snapping sound nearly caused him to start as he thought about what he had just done. The man's heart pounded once, twice, and then went silent.

"Michael?" a timid voice came from up the steps. "Is… is everything alright? I heard something break."

Dean stared down at the body for a few more moments and then turned to gaze at the stairs. Slowly, footsteps began to come down the steps. He saw the woman's legs first but did not move as she continued her descent. It was rather dim so it took her a moment for her eyes to adjust but once they did her eyes widened in horror. It wasn't hard for Dean to understand. Her husband's body upon the floor, blood streaming from his neck and a young man with blood dripping from his chin standing over him. It must have looked like a scene from a horror movie. She staggered back, leaning heavily against the wall as Dean began to walk towards her. He had only gone a few steps when she saw her take a deep breath in, filling her lungs for what he assumed would be an ear-shattering scream of terror. Just as the first note of the shout had left her lips Dean's hand wrapped around her neck and cut off her breath. "Sorry, Michael's dead," he told her, whipping her around and snaking an arm under her chin to continue her chokehold. "But if it helps you'll be with him soon." The Mark sang for joy as Dean's pressure increased. The scent of her blood proved to be too much and as she ceased struggling he buried his fangs in her neck and drained her. This time he did not stop when her heartbeat grew sluggish. He only ceased drinking when he could pull no more blood from her veins. He released her and watched her body tumble lifelessly down the steps. He closed his eyes and listened intently, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard no more heartbeats. Killing children was not something he wanted to do.

Out of some last remnant of pity for their bad fortune, Dean dragged the woman's body over to the man's and laid them side by side with each other. He even cleaned off the man's neck, albeit with a scrap of his own shirt. He knew he would have to move soon. That was certain. New world or not, where there was vampires there were hunters. A killing like this would not go unnoticed by them. Moving only at night would severely hinder him and he had no idea how long he would be able to go between feeding both his hunger for blood and the Mark. With any luck he could sate them both in the same action, no matter how grim the idea may be. He didn't care. Finding Sammy was his first priority, the next was finding Cas and Crowley, once he had those three getting the hell back to their bodies and back to their own worlds.


	4. Next Step

"You okay, kid?" A gruff voice asked him as Sam slowly drifted towards consciousness. His entire body was sore and his head throbbed in waves with the worst headache he had ever experienced. He slowly opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy as anvils. Standing over him were the two men from the night before, the ones who had advised him on the Change. "Probably have yourself a nasty little Change hangover, don't you?"

"Y-yeah," Sam nodded painfully and slowly maneuvered himself into a sitting position. He cradled his head in his hands as the new position caused his head to throb even harder in protest. "What happened?"

The two men exchanged looks and then took a seat on either side of him. "Do you remember being attacked, kid?" One of the men asked gently. "By some animal or something?"

"What? No." Sam frowned. He normally would have hesitated to share anything he knew about werewolves, but the fact that these two _were_ werewolves and that he was evidently in a much younger body was enough to kill that hesitation. "Look, I haven't been bitten by any werewolves or anything. I don't even know how I got to those woods, the last thing I remember was being with my brother. Wait, Dean! Did you guys see or smell or hear anything while you were Changed?"

The two looked surprised at how quickly Sam had adjusted to his new reality but quickly moved past the surprise. "Sorry, kid," Alaric said. "But you were the only one in those woods for miles and miles. Lucky, really. If any humans had been nearby you probably would have been trying to attack them on instinct. Especially if Pete here and I weren't there to keep an eye on you."

"Kid, your name, its Sam Winchester right?" Pete asked uncertainly, glancing to Alaric.

"Yeah, how did you know that?" Sam asked, certain he had not told them.

Alaric grabbed a laptop from and held it out to Sam, the screen facing towards him. "You better read this, Sam. It doesn't explain much but it will at least catch you up to speed as to where Pete and I on your little mystery."

As Sam took the laptop and began to read his own confusion grew as the words seemed to make no sense at all.

Meanwhile, several hundred miles away, the sun had just set and Dean rose from where he had been watching TV in the home of the people he had drained. Originally he had wanted to figure out a way to keep moving, but the fact that even the most minimal contact with sunlight burned his skin caused him to forego the plan. So, instead he chose to relax and learn what he could. It took him very little time to find the family's laptop and break into it. From there he searched for Sam and then himself. The first article that popped up was all the information he needed. It was a news article detailing their death. According to the article their vehicle had been found in the woods, crashed into a tree. Dean's body had been found dragged several yards from the car with twin puncture wounds in his neck that had nearly ripped his throat out. Sam's body had not been found. They had searched the woods for his body for some time but the latest update on the article reported that all search parties had been suspended until such time as new information arose. There were a few other articles of their friends and family, Dean's lip had curled in disgust when he saw his supposed parents were two people he didn't know, saying how great they were and how much they were going to be missed. For the briefest of moments Dean had entertained the idea of going back to the town he was supposedly from and attempt to find some information but he discarded the idea. He had no idea what was happening but he was very certain he had no intention of letting people who might know him see him. He wanted to keep his body count relatively low, despite the Mark's urging. For now.

He strode past the bodies without sparing them as much as a second glance. The couple had an old fashioned gas grill and he had left the gas on for the last hour. After that he had rigged up a little device that would cause a small flame a few minutes after being switched on. He flipped it on then and left the house, throwing on the jacket he had stolen from the man. In fact he had stolen quite a lot from them including cash, clothes, and some other odds and ends he thought he might need. He slid into their car and turned the key, pulling quickly out of the driveway. Walking was for the birds and he figured he had at least a few hours before they would start looking at things as a homicide. He was about a mile away when his acute hearing picked up the unmistakable sound of an explosion in the distance. "Well, that takes care of that," he said to himself, changing the radio to classic rock. Almost ironically, 'TNT' blasted through the speakers. He hummed along absentmindedly as he thought about where he would need to go next. He had no clue at all of where Sam would be, not here that much was for certain. Once he had finished reading up on his own situation he had checked to see if he could find any information on vampire attacks. Thankfully, there had been some information. He had read a report about a body found drained of blood in Las Vegas, which was where he was now headed. If he drove all night chances are he would get there with a little light to spare.

He did just that, giving little consideration for the car's wellbeing or speed limits. Once Dean pulled into downtown Las Vegas he ditched the car and wiped his prints from it. The sun's first glimmer of light was just beginning to peek over the horizon and Dean had a sudden desire to let out a hiss at it. He, thankfully, resisted the impulse and began to search for a place to hide. There were people all around him which caused him to not notice when someone came up behind him and press something hard into the small of his back. "Alley, now kid," A gruff voice said, giving him a shove.

Fighting an urge to smile Dean went along meekly with the desire. He was pushed into an alley and out of view of the public. Once the man had pushed him sufficiently deeply into the alley so that the commotion of people was merely a dull roar Dean whirled on him with inhuman speed. It was over in very little time. The would-be mugger was on the ground with his lifeblood being slowly drained into Dean's body as he leaned over the man. A loud sigh interrupted his feeding and Dean looked up to see two people with tattoo-like markings all over their skin. In their hands were odd looking silver blades that seemed to produce their own light. "What have we here, a vampire breaking the Accords?"

"Sure seems like it," the other tattooed person agreed. "Suppose we better kill it."

"Suppose so, can't have that."

"Wait, you two know I am a vampire?" Dean asked, wiping his mouth and ignoring the sudden pulse of the Mark. It wanted more blood and these two seemed like trouble. "How?"

"We're shadowhunters, you dunce," one answered, his tone almost bored. "Now, let us put you down like a good little Downworlder. I don't feel like wasting time on filth like you."

Dean's eyes narrowed and his muscles tightened subtly. "What did you just say to me?" he asked in a low voice.

His tone must have caused them some pause as they stopped moving towards him. "You are a fresh turn, aren't you?" The closer of the two asked, almost delightedly. "Good, even more of an excuse to slaughter some nests. Siring vampires and not teaching them, or something. It's not a great reason but, hey, take what you can get right?"

They moved forward again and Dean assumed a fighter's stance. These two were trouble, and dangerous. He could tell that from the way they moved, snakelike. But they were underestimating him. It would be their last mistake.


	5. Valentine

Dean watched the two like a hawk, noting how they moved completely in sync with the other. "Gabriel." One said softly, setting the odd-looking blade in his hand to glowing slightly.

"Azriel," the other said, his blade flaring brightly as well.

Wishing very much that he had some sort of bladed weapon as well Dean made due a rusty pipe lying in the corner of the alley. This gave the two aggressors some pause and they exchanged a curious look. "A vampire using a weapon," one of them said with a laugh. "First time for everything, I guess."

"Yeah, well, two-on-one isn't a first for me," Dean said with a roguish grin. The smile never reached his eyes.

"Yes, yes, very macho." One said, stifling a yawn. "Come on John, let's hurry up and finish this one so we can alert the Clave to us destroying the nest later."

"What the hell is the Clave?" Dean demanded.

"Don't worry about it," one told him. "Even if we described it to you it wouldn't matter, you are about to die."

"We will see about that, now won't we?" Dean growled. Now that they were a bit closer he could see strange tattoos on their skin. To a normal person they would just seem like random designs but Dean's practiced eye recognized them instantly as runes. He did not, however, recognize what type of runes they were. In fact it seemed like each rune had properties of different religions and regions within them.

The taller of the two darted forward without warning and swung in a vicious overhead arc towards Dean's head. The obvious move would have been to jump backwards but that would have exposed him even more to a follow-up attack. _Which is just what you want me to do,_ Dean thought. So he did the exact opposite, stepping forward and stabbing the end of the pipe at the man's elbow. Whether it was due to arrogance or simply due to Dean's newfound vampire speed, the maneuver was successful as the weapon fell from the man's grasp and he grabbed his elbow. With a display of reflexes and athleticism, Dean grabbed the blade from the air and ran the edge across the Shadowhunter's throat. He fell onto his back and immediately started to crawl backwards. He reached into the folds of his coat and withdrew what looked to be a silver twig. He extended his forearm even as blood continued to pour forth from his neck. His companion stepped in front of him, all traces of antagonism towards Dean now replaced with a cold look.

The blade he had taken from his first opponent seemed to oddly resonate with the Mark of Cain, almost like the two were meant to be together. Not quite as much as the First Blade, but enough for Dean to feel as though it was an extension of his being. This seemed incredible to the Shadowhunter. "How are you wielding that?" she spat, her own blade held defensively before her. "You filthy vampire, you shouldn't even be able to touch that without burning."

"Guess I'm not your run of the mill vampire," Dean sneered back, flipping the blade just to show how little he cared for her objection. "Got a problem with it, come take it from me."

She glared murderously at him and the two began to circle one another. Dean made the first move, darting forward and thrusting towards her midsection. Predictably she sidestepped it and attempted a thrust of her own. Dean twisted away, slashing at her as he moved. Clearly expecting this she stepped back and easily avoided the blade. Behind her, the first shadowhunter Dean had downed was beginning to get back to his feet. The split flesh at his throat had inexplicably knitted itself back together without a single scar in sight. His skin was still ghastly pale however and his breathing was incredibly labored. If he got back into the fight, Dean was confident he could dispatch of him with very little effort.

The woman glanced behind her at her companion and nodded slightly. "Stay out of this, John," she told him. "Fresh-turn or not, this guy is good. He must have had some kind of training."

"Oh, lady, you have no idea," Dean barked out a laugh. "Why don't you two just wander off and I won't have to rip you in half."

An odd sound came from behind the woman. Many people would have trouble placing it but it was familiar to Dean. It was the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding into someone's back. Apparently it was familiar to the woman shadowhunter as well as she whirled around just in time to see her friend fall and a blade swipe across her chest. She fell seconds later, dead by the time she hit the ground. Standing over their dead bodies was a large man wielding a claymore with as much ease as Dean did the silver blade. Upon closer inspection it seemed as though half the sword was made of steel and half was the same silver metal that Dean's blade was made of. He didn't spare a glance towards the two fallen bodies, his entire focus upon Dean's arm. "That is an interesting mark you have there," he said finally, nodding to the Mark of Cain. "Not exactly common, is it?"

"You could say that," Dean answered warily, unsure if he was about to fight this newcomer as well. He was garbed in a similar armor to the one that the dead shadowhunters wore. The only difference was that his seemed more akin to what a knight might wear. "Why?"

"No reason at all," the man said. He shrugged and smiled slightly. "Forgive me, I forgot my manners. My name is Valentine. Have you heard of me?"

"Should I have?" Dean asked pointedly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not." He shrugged again. "If you ask the shadowhunters, the people who were about to kill you, I am something of a villain. But, then again, you have just seen what kind of people they are."

"Yeah, not exactly the friendly type," Dean agreed. "So what did you do to make them pissed at you?"

"In an effort to make a long story rather short, I led a rebellion." Valentine answered. "The way things were done, the way you have just seen, were wrong. I wished to change things."

"And they stopped you?" Dean asked slowly.

"Stopped me, tried to kill me and my chosen, drove me into exile," Valentine answered, bitterness clear in his voice. "All for trying to make this world better."

"Look, I'm not judging you," Dean said. He nodded to the bodies on the ground. "Those two were dicks. They deserved what they got as far as I am concerned. But if you are trying to get me to join up, I have my own things to do. I'm looking for my brother, he's probably got turned into a vampire or something like I did."

"Well, I could help you search if you'd like," Valentine offered. "I too am searching for something. If your brother has been borne as a downworlder there is every chance that my search could run across him as well as what I seek. Will you join me? I vow to offer every resource at my disposal to help you in your search."

Dean thought about this for a moment before nodding. "Deal," he said, offering his hand. Valentine shook it and turned to walk back out the alley, his cloak flowing around his legs. "Hold up," Dean called, staring down at the body of the dead male shadow hunter.

Valentine turned and raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" he asked.

Dean sized up the man and nodded once. "Time for a change in wardrobe," he said, reaching down towards the man.


	6. Luke Garroway

"Hm…" the man looked Sam up and down, clearly assessing him. Alaric had left Sam to browse the internet while Pete watched over him but Sam hadn't noticed, engrossed as he was. Alaric had introduced the newcomer as Luke, and as the alpha of their pack. "And you don't remember anything?"

"Not a thing," Sam answered honestly, "The only thing I remember is waking up in the woods and trying to find my way out."

"No memory at all of you being attacked by a wolf?" Luke prompted further, turning Sam's head to one side and then the other.

"Look, if I remembered I would tell you," Sam said, pulling away from Luke's hands and frowning. "I have to get out of here and find my brother."

"Sorry, I can't allow that," Luke said, clearly satisfied with his examination and stepping back several steps to cross his arms. "Alaric caught me up on who you are. I followed your case with quite a bit of interest. It's always in our best interest to make sure that rogue wolves are dealt with. From what I've read and seen, you shouldn't be alive. But here you are, safe and sound. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"I don't care _what_ you do with it," Sam said hotly, rising from his seat and grabbing for the jacket that Alaric had given him. "I'm leaving to find my brother."

"No, you aren't," Luke said, stepping between him and the exit. "Sam, I understand that you are confused, scared even, but I can't let you leave here. A lone wolf is a rare thing and only happens when an alpha accepts that the wolf won't bring attention to themselves. You, on the other hand, are a brand new werewolf with no ability to control his turn nor his temper."

"I _don't_ have a temper," Sam snapped, proving his words were incorrect. "And I can take care of myself."

"Look, you are going to search for your brother, right?" Luke said, clearly trying to placate Sam. "You don't know this side of the world, the one that hides in shadows, but we do. If you survived the wolf's attack, there is every chance that your brother did as well."

This logic gave Sam the slightest of pauses and Luke seized the momentary weakness. "Let me reach out to other packs. You traveled a massive distance, your brother could be anywhere. Other packs will give you the same problems and holdups I am and that's _if_ they don't kill you on principle for being basically a rogue wolf."

"So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Sam asked skeptically. "Sit here and do nothing?"

"Not quite," Luke said, "If you are going to stay here you are going to stay as a part of my pack. That means that you are going to go to school, just like a normal kid."

"School?" Sam repeated disbelievingly. This was the last thing that he had expected. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Luke said, clearly fighting a smile. "Like I said, I followed your case _very_ thoroughly. You were only halfway through your junior year when you were attacked. You lost a few weeks with your disappearance, but you seem smart enough. You can catch up. I will have some papers forged so that you can enroll within the week."

Sam, whose memories of his original world had begun to rapidly fade away, tried to cling to them desperately but it was like grabbing water. "Look, I appreciate your help and I think I am going to need it but seriously, school?

"Very seriously." Luke said, no longer smiling. "Just because we were given a different hand than most doesn't mean we have to live like animals. Most of the pack leads very normal lives, save for the full moon. You'll enjoy the local high school. My best friend's daughter and her best friend attend it. I will be happy to introduce you to them."

"Sure," Sam said after a few moments. "Are they werewolves too?"

Luke's face grew very stern then. "No, they aren't." He said curtly. "And that is another issue. This is my first order to you as your new alpha: you are forbidden to speak to Clary or her friend Simon about anything Downworlder related."

"Well, what if they find out on their own?" Sam asked.

"I really, well and truly, hope that such a thing never comes to pass," Luke said. "But, if it does, consider that order null and void. Help them as much as you can."

A bell rang out from the front of the store and Luke held up a hand, listening intently. He smiled after a moment and gestured for Sam to follow him. Curious, he followed the alpha out of the back of the book store and into the front. Standing there, leaning on the counter and chatting animatedly, was one red-haired girl about Sam's current age and one nerdy looking boy beside her. She smiled when she saw Luke and gave him a tight hug. "You missed dinner last night!" she said accusingly, punching Luke on the arm.

"Sorry, got held up with work," he laughed, rubbing his arm.

"You are your own boss," she reminded him, rolling her eyes. "And you run your own store. You don't have an excuse."

Luke looked to Simon for help, but the nerdy boy raised his hands and shook his head. "I'm not equipped for that battle, you are on your own."

Rolling his eyes, the alpha sighed. "Alright, how about I come over for dinner tomorrow night?"

Clary seemed to consider this and then shook her head. "No, you can come over tonight."

"Tonight?" Luke asked incredulously. "That's a bit short notice, don't you think?"

"You are the one who didn't come over last night," Clary shrugged, seemingly not caring about the time frame she had set. "Make time."

Simon was the first one who noticed Sam standing in the doorway that led to the back and he raised an eyebrow. "Uh, hi?" he said warily. "Can I help you with something?"

Luke caught Simon's gaze and he beckoned for Sam to join them. "Clary, Simon, I would like you to meet Sam. He's my sister's son."

"Nice to meet you, Sam," Clary smiled at him and offered a hand which Sam shook. Simon did the same, though he didn't linger as long as she did. "Luke, you didn't tell me you had a sister! Or a nephew!"

"They live quite far away," Luke laughed. "But he came to visit for a while. He wanted to see the city, so we thought he should spend a few years with me. He will be going to your high school this fall."

"Oh, cool!" Clary said. "So, Sam, what do you think of the city so far?

"It's… nice?" Sam said, smiling cautiously. So much had happened to him in such a short time that he had forgotten how to interact with people his own age. That thought caused the smile to falter slightly. Something felt off about it, like it wasn't quite right, but he wasn't sure what it was. His memory was fuzzy at best and nonexistent at worst. He remembered that he had a brother, Dean, that he needed to find but beyond that… Nothing. He didn't remember anything beyond being found running through the forest. "I don't think I have seen a city quite like this before."

"Well, let us show you around," Clary said, taking his hand and tugging him forward. "Come on, Simon! Let's show him around!"

"Hold on a bit," Luke laughed. "Sam will meet you outside, I just need to give him a few last minute instructions before he runs off with you two."

Clary and Simon shrugged simultaneously and walked out of the store. Only when they had gone did Luke turn to Sam. "Remember, not a word to the two of them about Downworlders or _any_ of it. Here's some cash to get you by for a while," Luke handed Sam a small wad of money which he immediately pocketed. "When you get settled in a bit more you can start working here or at the bar so that you can earn some of your own. Keep an eye on those two for me, they are very important in my life. You are welcome to stay here tonight, I will have a bed set up for you in the back. The red brick on the wall by the store is loose, I will store a key behind it."

"Thanks for all of this," Sam said. "I'll do what I can to not be too much of a burden."

"A burden?" Luke laughed, shaking his head. "Sam, you are handling all of this better than anyone could ask of you. _I_ didn't when I got turned and I was older than you. You have some steel in you, kid. You'll do just fine here I think."


	7. Adjusting

Acquainting himself with his new reality was… jarring. It took time. Sam spent most of his days with Simon and Clary and his nights with Luke at the local bar that his pack met at. The others, the rest of the pack that is, did make things easier however. The Hunter's Moon, the aforementioned bar, had quickly become one of Sam's favorite hangouts. For their part, the New York pack had fully embraced their newest member and, to the last wolf, they were all quite fond of him.

This was where Sam found himself the evening before school started again, sitting at a bar and talking to Bat Velasquez. "So, classes start tomorrow then?" Bat asked, taking a sip of his drink. "Excited?"

"I mean, I guess?" Sam shrugged, resting his chin on the bar. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, as though he was forgetting something vital, but he couldn't figure it out. In truth, all of Sam's memories from his original world were gone now. He knew he had a brother named Dean, but that was the extent of things. Everything before the night he had been found in the woods was gone now, a dark abyss in which nothing existed. "I don't know, it just doesn't seem right. A werewolf going to normal school?"

"You can't think like that," Bat said, rolling his eyes. "If you start thinking as yourself as _only_ a werewolf you are going to lose your grip on the part of you that is human."

"Do I still have one?" Sam said, snorting. "Last I checked Simon and Clary weren't running around with a built in fur coat on full moons."

"Guess they aren't as lucky as you," Bat grinned at him. "Come on, Sam, you are still a kid. You might be a little more than that, but that's not all you are. There are other kids in the pack too, just look at Maya. She's barely eighteen and doing just fine for herself."

"I guess," Sam shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know, I really don't."

"Alright, I'm going to put my serious face on for once." Bat said, setting down his drink and turning to face Sam. "Sam, you know that I DJ right?"

"Yeah, of course," he nodded, looking Bat in the eyes now.

"Tell me, how many of the other guys in the pack do you know of who have a job that is entirely removed from the pack? The Downworlder environment?"

Sam thought about this and then shrugged again. "I don't know, maybe Luke?"

"Exactly, kid, and that is exactly what I am saying," Bat said emphatically, lightly slamming his fist on the bar and making his glass jump. "Everyone here is either so obsessed with being a werewolf or so obsessed with feeling sorry for themselves. They forget what it is like to just _live._ Yeah, we're a pack. I have everyone's back, there's no question about that. But I believe in helping yourself as well, and a lot of people don't have that initiative. You are one of the few that still do. Your situation, if you don't mind me saying, is completely fucked. Your brother and you, both killed, and you have no family because you were both presumed dead. There's no going back from that, especially since the Clave would put you down in a heartbeat. But you have a chance for a new life because of that. So don't get all hung up on the werewolf thing Sam. Embrace it, yeah, but embrace the part of you that is still human."

Bat finished his drink and rose from his seat, leaving Sam to contemplate his words. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it from his pocket, seeing a text from Clary flashing on the screen.

 _Hey, what are you doing?_

 _Not much. Just getting ready for school tomorrow, I guess. Hbu?_

 _Putting it off as long as possible. Want to hang out?_

 _Sure, where at?_

 _My house? Luke's over which means we have way too much food._

Sam's stomach rumbled at that precise moment and he checked the time. It was a few minutes past ten and he blinked. Where had the day gone? _It's kinda late isn't it?_

 _That is a matter of perspective._

Sam had to smile at this. At the insistence of Simon the three of them had binged the entire Pirates of the Caribbean series in a single weekend. Simon had, under his breath, recited almost every line of the movie with inflection included. Thus they had begun quoting the movie at every opportunity if only to give him a hard time. _Alright, sure, as long as Luke doesn't mind._

 _He said its fine._

Sam thought it over one last time and then thought back to what Bat had told him. Having dinner before a school night with a friend was pretty much as normal as it got, right? A minute later Sam was out of the bar and lightly jogging towards Clary's address with his book bag over his shoulder. He would probably crash on Luke's couch again after he left Clary's house so it made sense to have his stuff ready for the next day.

On the West Coast, Dean Winchester was having a much different evening. Scattered before him was the bodies of several humans who he had just fed upon. Blood ran down his chin and dripped onto the ground and his shirt. The Mark of Cain was positively thrumming with power, sated with the killing. "Good work," Valentine said, running one of the humans through with an ancient looking sword. With each chest that it pierced it, briefly, grew bright and then faded once more. Valentine had not deemed to tell him what the sword's purpose was, only that it was vital to his plans. In fact Valentine had been almost entirely close-lipped about his plans.

Their relationship, if you could call it that, was entirely centered on what was mutually beneficial to them both. Whenever Valentine needed blood to spill he would ask Dean. At first Dean had been wary of this, uncertain if Valentine was to be trusted to any extent, but he had hesitantly gone along with the bloodshed. The Mark of Cain, after all, required sacrifices. Humans were easy prey for him and their deaths satisfied every thirst he had. Valentine, as well, was satisfied with their destruction as their lives fed that sword. Dean had once asked about the blade but Valentine had simply shook his head.

"How many more do you think you need?" Dean asked, nudging one body with his foot.

"It is difficult to say," Valentine answered in his silky smooth baritone. "Perhaps one hundred more? Perhaps two hundred? It is difficult to say. Humans, as offerings, are next to worthless. Their souls have very little magical value and this sword feasts upon the magic."

"What would be a better option?" Dean asked, already guessing where better souls could be found.

"Shadowhunters, in all honesty, would be the most ideal prey," Valentine answered, confirming Dean's suspicions. "The two that we slew the day we met were worth more than the dozens of humans we have killed. Several times over in fact. The only thing that makes hunting these vermin worthwhile is that they are so numerous whereas Shadowhunters…"

"Shadowhunters are not." Dean confirmed, nodding in understanding. He ripped off a piece of one of the dead's shirts and used it to clean the blood from his face and hands. "What is the next best option?"

"Downworlders would be next. Preferably witches and warlocks." Valentine said slowly, turning to face Dean. "Are you suggesting that we change our prey?"

"You said that sword can help us find Sam, right?" Dean asked simply.

"It can, and so much more," Valentine nodded, tapping the hilt fondly. "This sword has more power than anyone could know. Save for me."

"I'll take your word for it." Dean said, waving a hand dismissively. Whatever Valentine's plans were, he didn't really care. Saving and finding Sammy, that was his only goal. Perhaps it was the influence of the Mark of Cain, but every life that he took in order to reach this goal seemed to pale in comparison to Sam's. "How many Downworlders do you think I need to kill to get that sword up and running?"

"It is difficult to accurately say… perhaps twenty?" Valentine mused, his eyes distant now. "If we were to fully charge it, I would say that we would need blood from every race of Downworlder."

"Then I'll get it for you," Dean said, starting down the alleyway and then glancing up at the sky. He had, at best, an hour left before the sun forced him to hide.

"Dean," Valentine called, "Before you undertake this reckoning you must know that I cannot assist you. The world must not know that I yet live. If they were to discover that it would undo years of planning and make finding our goals that much harder. You will be alone in this."

"Not like I haven't done things alone before," Dean said. Vague memories of his past were there but, like Sam, they had almost completely faded. All he had been left with was an obsessive desire to find and save his baby brother. "This won't be any different from killing anything else."

"I'm afraid that it will be," Valentine warned. "Downworlders are used to fighting for survival. They are not cattle to be slaughtered like humans are. They will fight you."

Dean smiled at this, a smile devoid of humor. He reached to the small of his back and pulled free two seraph blades from criss-crossed sheaths he had taken from a dead shadow hunter. "Will these do the trick?"

Valentine looked at the softly glowing blades in Dean's hands and then nodded. "They will do the job," he said gravely. "Remember, Dean, you may very well be the only Downworlder who can even touch them much less wield them. Do you remember what I told you?"

"To use them properly I will need to give them names before I fight." Dean nodded. "Don't worry, I already have two names picked out."


End file.
